


Finally, I can see you crystal clear

by GoodDalekPeppergrinderfromdowntheRiver



Series: Sherlolly (if you squint) [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s04e01 The Six Thatchers, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, The Six Thatchers Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-14 08:10:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9170131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodDalekPeppergrinderfromdowntheRiver/pseuds/GoodDalekPeppergrinderfromdowntheRiver
Summary: Molly is looking after Rosamund when Sherlock pays her a visit.SPOILERS FOR EP 4 S 01!!!!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Adele, Rolling in the deep.
> 
> I don't own these characters.
> 
> Happy new year!

 

 **“** Hello John,” Molly says as she opens the door. Two hours prior, Mary had popped by with Rosamund to ask her to babysit. It was rather impromptu, but her friend was in a hurry. Molly, of course, had no objections – after all, Rosamund was rather cute. Also, she was great company, even if all she did was gurgle, laugh and cry. She smiles widely at John, about to launch straight into how well behaved his daughter is being when she notices.

Something. Something is off... She can’t put her finger on it, though maybe she doesn’t want to?  John's eyebrows are creased; his eyes are wet with tears and he is drawing in ragged breaths of air.

“John, what’s the matter? Is… Has something happened with you and Mary?”

Instead of replying, John stumbles in through the doorway, collapsing into a heap inside. Perplexed, Molly’s frown deepens. She has never seen John look so broken and distressed other than when Sherlock faked his death. In fact, it wasn’t as bad when Sherlock died. This… this is something else. Molly is suddenly struck by horror. No… it can’t be…  She tried arduously to dispel the horrible thought. She doesn’t want to admit that nothing else would make sense. She doesn’t want to use her logic or rational mind because she knows very well that she doesn’t want to know what has caused her dear friend’s state. She wants to hold on to hope, however feeble, delusional and deceptive it may be. Still, despite this, she shivers slightly and her eyes are a little wet.

John Watson howls like a wounded animal. Never has she heard a sound so desperate… so scary… The sound unsettles her so much that she nearly drops Rosie. Her arms tighten around the little Watson as she walks to the sofa to place her down. Cautiously, she approaches John Watson, as if, he is indeed a wounded animal and will lash out any second. She sits on the floor beside him from a position where she can see Rosie. Gingerly, she places her warm hand on his shoulder.

“John. John, what has happened?”

He sobs heavily and it takes him a while to force the words out. “Mary… Mary… she’s… she’s gone… dead…” John Watson has absolutely no idea how to feel. Sadness and sorrow are warping him and ensnaring him and he fears that he will never be freed from their tight grip. However, anger is bubbling inside of him, like lava in a volcano. The feeling is absolutely toxic and repulsive and all he wants to do is explode! Sherlock made a vow and he broke it. This was his fault! Also, there was guilt. Guilt is gnawing at him like a dog on a bone. He wishes that he can turn back time and insist that Mary stays with Rosie. He wishes that he could tell his past self not to be an idiot and text some other woman.

Molly’s immediate reaction is to cry and grief the loss of her friend. However, after seconds of mentally scolding herself, she resists the tears tickling her throat. No. She can’t… she loves her friend and will miss her terribly, but she cannot make this moment about her. The Watsons have lost a wife and a mother – grief over friendship was second best. She could wait till she was sealed in the darkness and silence.

“How?” Molly whispers.

“Sherlock,” is all he responds.

She holds John Watson for several minutes in the silence. The minutes seem to last an eternity; not that she is complaining - how could she?  She tries to figure out what John meant by ‘Sherlock.’ What did he do? Surely, he can’t have been the one to kill Mary... but then, what did he do?

After a while, the silence is broken by laughter and Molly feels like her heart is going to break because she is suddenly reminded of sweet and innocent Rosie Watson, oblivious of how great a loss there has been. It is almost bittersweet – she is spared the sorrow now, but will suffer its bite somewhere in the future.

Rosie’s happy gurgle seems to snap John out of his stupor. There is his child and she needs a fully functional dad. He stares at his little princess and it hurts – it feels like his heart is being yanked out because she looks so much like her mother. He… he knows what she needs… but he cannot be that at the moment. He can’t…

“Molly, is it okay if… if I leave… Rosie here for a bit?” John asks. He is no longer crying but still sprawled on the floor. Molly catches a glimpse of his face as she is a little horrified at the devastation that grief has caused. His eyes are a raw pink colour from all the tears. Under his eyes are dry with all the tears and he looks like he has aged a decade. It suddenly strikes Molly that never in her years of being a pathologist, has she ever seen what happened to the family. All she gets is a body on the slab and she’s so used to just dissecting the body and running tests that she didn’t consider all the grieve. The gravity of this new realisation, she is sure will fully hit her when she returns to work. She fears that she will never be able to separate the body from the idea of loss again.

“Yes… sure. For as long as you need,” she says. And she means it. She absolutely does. “Where will you go? What will you do?”

“I don’t know,” John admits wearily. “I am nothing without her. I wish… I wish I could die too,”

“Don’t… don’t say that. You’re still a father and a friend. You have your beautiful daughter who needs you. You have so much to live for John!”

“Thanks, Molly,” He says as he gets up. “For everything. If Sherlock comes, tell him I said that I would rather anyone’s help other than his,”

“John… please don’t do anything stupid. You’re the only family your daughter has. I know that you are lost and broken and that… it is hard. I know that it is difficult to keep going, but you need to for her.”

John leaves without responding. However, Molly’s words echo in his mind. She is right of course. Unfortunately. He can’t… he can’t leave Rosie… she is the only thing making his pitiful life worth living. However, for now, he cannot … he cannot bear the resemblance… God damn it, he needs a drink!

 

Four days later

 

Molly turns on her living room light and she is startled. It is a good thing that she is not carrying Rosamund in her arms. The little Watson is asleep in Molly’s bed.

She hisses slightly, in the shock of it all. “Sherlock, what are you doing?”

“I used the spare key to get in,” Sherlock says rather monotone.

Currently, she has no idea how to feel about Sherlock Holmes. Once upon a time, she would be in awe. He had her hanging on every word and action. She would feel a little pathetic at the end of the day, but she could not help that she was entirely and blindingly in love. He’d say such mean things and she would turn a blind eye, still holding on to delusional hope that he was secretly in love with her. On the occasions where she didn’t turn a blind eye, she’d be extremely forgiving and accept his half-hearted apologies and goal-directed compliments with ease. That was what love does – makes a fool out of her. Makes her weak. However, following his relapse into drugs and his cruel use of Janine – he’d told her after catching her reading a tabloid – she realised that Sherlock Holmes wasn’t all she cracked him up to be in her head. He was cold, manipulative and …perhaps he was a lost cause? Since Mary Watson’s death, he’d realised that Sherlock was indeed capable of human emotions. She could see the grief in his eyes. However, she is uncertain as to whether he deserves her sympathy. Although she knows that he didn’t harm Mary and that Mary willingly took the bullet – Greg had updated her a day ago when he came over to offer help – she is still inclined to side with John when he insisted that it was Sherlock’s fault.

“Sherlock… why are you here?” she asks wearily. She is a little tired – Rosamund makes sure of that! John is yet to return and take his daughter home.

“I… I… I don’t know where else to go… who else to turn to I… I don’t know what to do… I need … I need John. I need help,” Molly is a little torn. This is potentially the most honest thing that she has heard Sherlock say.

“What happened? John wouldn’t tell me.” She says as she joins him on the sofa.

Sherlock sighs heavily and Molly is a little unsettled. It saddens her a little to see Sherlock, the man incapable of human emotions, thaw. She has always wanted to see the man behind the mask, but not like this. Not like this at all!

He tells her what happened. She was already well aware of Mary’s past – as Mary herself had insisted on telling her – so there wasn’t much of the story to fill in.

“Oh Sherlock,” she says, unable to think of anything else to say. She is sad. Sad is an understatement. She feels as if her entire being is woven with sorrow and dejection. Without thinking about it, she places a hand on top of Sherlock’s. It is a testimony to how sad he is, that he accepts her gesture.

After moments of silence, he adds, “I need you to help me fix this. You’re always so helpful,”

“Me, helpful? You’re only saying that because I give you body parts,” she says to lighten the mood a little. She realises instantly how it might have out. “No… I mean…”

“Molly Hopper, you helped me fake my death. You saved my life. You make me see sense.”

“Saved your life?” She asks, perplexed.

“In my mind palace, when I was shot. You were there. You made me focus.” He explains.

Molly holds her breath, shocked at Sherlock’s admittance. She … she would ever have thought… there is a glow of happiness in her stomach that is extinguished in seconds when she is overcome by guilt. How dear she be happy? It feels like a heinous crime. Once she has to repent for with buckets full of sadness.

“What are we going to do to get John Watson back?” he asks and she averts her gaze from his eyes because she cannot stand the sight. His beautiful eyes are not piercing hers with indifference as the usually are. They are sad and desperate…

“Well… I guess I could call him over… and tell him I can’t look after Rosie anymore. He’ll come and then he’ll have to be in the same room as you and then you… you apologise and tell him how much you love him,”

“Do you really believe that I can?” He asks.

“Yes!” she says firmly. “I need to go check on Rosie but I’ll be back soon,”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a bit of bad news. I return to Uni soon and so I will have less time to write fanfiction. :( However, I will try to update ASAP! 
> 
> Also, thank you ChiefDoctor for having my back. I read the comments a couple days back after I woke up and it made my day that you defended me. 
> 
> This being said, I have absolutely no problem with criticism as everyone is entitled to their own view. Also, I guess we don't live in a world where there is a unanimous opinion about everything. I guess it helps with developing my writing and ideas, so criticism is always welcomed. (Though it probably helps not to start a comment with 'This is gross as hell...' 
> 
> I love Sherlolly and I believe that Sherlock has emotions. 
> 
> Furthermore, I downloaded Grammarly on my laptop. Now, there should be fewer grammatical and spelling errors. 
> 
> Oh by the way, the title is 'Finally, I can see you crystal clear' because I thought that it could mean seeing someone as themselves or revealed for the first time. And I feel as if grief may unravel Sherlock a bit. 
> 
> Anyway, good day (or good night) to all of you. :)

He can picture Mycroft say “Sentiment dear brother.” A gloating smile on his face.

Sherlock sees a child with slightly messy, curly, dark brown hair. He is sat beside a shaggy reddish-brown dog who is licking his in the face. The boy frowns indignantly whilst crossing his arms. He has learnt that ‘telling mummy’ about his mean older brother will only result in Mycroft’s triumph so his next best line of defence is to refuse to accept Mycroft’s statement. “No. Shut up Mycroft,” His words come out almost as a plea and his brother’s slight smile becomes slightly more defined.

An older Mycroft tuts self-righteously, looking down at his pitiful little brother.

Sherlock hates it when his brother taunts him in this way because he is absolutely wrong. Sherlock does not need other people. He most certainly does not care – people are like pawns on a chess board and he is the player. Yes, he’s manipulative and unattached but that is the best way to play a game. However, more and more – rather to his own distaste – he realises that his brother is right; Sherlock has feelings.

He first realised this was the case when he met Molly Hooper all those years ago. He was not instantly drawn to her and he didn’t think much of her at first glance. However, after a couple times of being in close proximity to her, she’d managed to get under his skin in a way that he’d never realised was possible. One minute, he was engrossed in his work, and then the next, he noticed. He noticed that Molly Hooper was beautiful. The sudden thought was rather irritating – and it rattled Sherlock, though he would never admit that. It wasn’t her face, body or any other superficial characteristic. It was her. He was slightly in awe of her meticulous attention to detail when she examined a corpse or carried out a test. He noticed she was ever so cautious yet efficient. He admired her dedication – that she would stay late to finish of work. This was not just a day job for her – it was a calling; a passion; a hobby almost. It was refreshing to see someone else who lived their lives doing things not out of obligation or for an incentive. It was beautiful, though not that he told her as much.

He’d never admit it at the time of course, but Molly counted. Sherlock was not a person who was particularly fond of people and for that reason, it never mattered who helped him or who was around him. However, after meeting Molly Hooper, it _had_ to be her.

A year after meeting her, he met John, who too had proven his older brothers taunts right. Magnificent, wonderful John Watson was always just what he needed. Sometimes, when Sherlock would have the time to spare, he would question, why John? John wasn’t exactly special – he wasn’t gifted with observation or objectivity. In a way, John was like most people. What was it about him, then, that stuck out to Sherlock? He had not a clue. This was a question that he probably would never have a certain answer too. However, it did not matter too much.

Slowly but eventually, John had opened Sherlock’s eyes to the idea that there was space for sentiment in Sherlock’s life. Even if it is sort of abstract and subtle.

Once upon a time, Sherlock Holmes was ice – or at least he considered himself to be – then, slowly and slowly, he started to thaw.

 

 

 

It feels as if Sherlock is waiting an eternity for Molly Hooper to return. The room is filled to the brim with emptiness and silence and it unsettles Sherlock. Every room, for the past four days, had been the same. It didn’t matter if he was working arduously on a case or if he were talking to himself. He cannot be distracted by the grief and loss, it seems.

Sherlock manages to smile half-heartedly at Molly when she returns with a wide awake and gurgling Rosamund Watson. Sherlock was not one for children, after all, they were illogical parasitic beings. They smiled and laugh even though the world was a bleak place; they cried, despite being unscathed and not knowing anything of any pain or sorrow. However, he cannot help but admit that Rosy Watson is beautiful. He cannot help but admit that he can understand – even if it is only vaguely – why people would want to put themselves through the labours of childbirth.

 “I went to John’s therapist,” he tells Molly and she turns around, frowning slightly, no doubt perplexed. Suddenly, a smile – a rather sad and sympathetic smile is in its place.

“So… so you could ask what to do about this. What did she say?” Molly says sympathetically. She has the sudden urge to place Rosamund down and to hold the detective and not let go. However, she refrains from doing so – a voice of reason is telling her that Sherlock will not exactly comprehend her actions thus things ending up awkward. It’s evident that she is a bit wrong about him – Sherlock is most definitely capable of human emotions. However, perhaps in a weird paradoxical way, he also finds the feelings foreign.

“She asked me about how I was feeling. She told me that I needed to open up. Then she told me that she couldn’t tell me anything about John because everything about other patients must remain confidential. I then asked if the situation was hypothetical, what was a friend to do and she told me that in that case, one would have to wait patiently for their friend to get over the loss.” Sherlock explains. However, he does not tell her how the idea of _just_ waiting is much to his distaste. Saving John Watson was his case and whilst sometimes, he had to be incredibly patient – for instance, waiting for lab results or stakeouts – this situation is not something that Sherlock can bear to be patient about. He wants John to recover because he doesn’t like seeing his best friend so broken and lost. He doesn’t like seeing his best friend all alone. And yes, there is a selfish element as well – as always – Sherlock _needs_ John.

“And how do you feel?” Molly tries, hoping, hoping, hoping, that he opens up to her. He fixes Molly with a piercing stare that blatantly says, do not cross this line. However, she stares at him expectantly, not backing down. Too often, she lets Sherlock Holmes win. Too often, he gets his own way. Well, not today!

After several seconds of silence, Sherlock caves in. His eyes soften and he turns away from Molly. “You should be able to deduce my feelings seeing as you’re the expert, well more so than me, with social situations.”

Molly smiles slightly. “Me, an expert with social situations? I stutter and say the wrong things. If I am an expert, then you are really bad,”

Sherlock laughs slightly – it is the first time he has laughed since losing Mary. He feels slightly lighter. However, he rebukes himself for daring to laugh.  “I felt guilty. That maybe if I hadn’t been so arrogant, that Mary would still be alive. I was so busy revealing her jealousy oblivious that it was agitating her. Mary told me to stop and I didn’t. Why did Mary have to jump in front of me? I made a vow to protect the Watson’s but I let them down.”

This time, Molly does not resist the urge to hug Sherlock. She places Rosamund down on the carpet to crawl around and she ensnares Sherlock with her arms. Surprisingly, he doesn’t resist or stare at her bewildered as she expected.

“It’s not your fault!” Molly insists with such conviction that Sherlock is momentarily shocked. “It is not your fault at all! It is no one’s fault. John will realise that soon enough once he gets over the shock. It wasn’t you who killed his wife, but that despicable evil woman.”

Sherlock stares at Molly, a little uncertain. However, her gaze is so intense that he cannot argue with her. There is something about those eyes of hers that makes him want to believe her.

“Will John get over the shock, though?” Sherlock asks.

“He will. He knows you love him. I remember when my dad died. For the first few weeks, it was horrible. I cried. I was so angry and I was convinced that I would never be happy again. That the pain would be perpetual. However, one day, I laughed. Someone told me a joke and I laughed so hard and I remembered that I was capable of laughter. I remembered that I was capable of smiling. Of happiness. I have never forgotten my dad and it still hurts that he is gone. For John, right now, it feels like his world has ended and when he realises that things keep moving, he will accept that you’re not to blame,”

Sherlock takes some time to digest her words and they make sense in a way. He finds himself hoping that she is right – never has he pinned so much on hope before.

 

*

John is swimming in a sea full of emotions. All of them are ugly. All of them are making the water heavy and are anchoring him down to the sea bed. The only reason he is still fighting and struggling to breathe is because of Rosy. Otherwise, he’d happily let all the emotions kill him.

Most prominent is grief and sorrow. His wife, his beautiful wife, is now dead. He will never get to speak to her again. He will never get to hold her. His second half has been ripped from him and he is forever forsaken to wander the world lost.

Also, John feels sheepish and angry at himself. Shortly before she died, he’d scolded Mary for keeping secrets. For not treating him the way he deserved – after all, he’d been a good husband to her. He provided for her and his child and he didn’t leave her to do all the washing, cleaning, cooking and childcare. However, he had not treated her as she deserved. She had her flaws and her past, but he chose her anyway, so he couldn’t exactly pretend that he didn’t know what he walked into. He had essentially cheated on her – he didn’t do anything with E, but he didn’t make it clear that he had a wife. He didn’t rip up her number and he didn’t tell Mary. It felt so insignificant at the time – she was just another female friend, like Molly Hooper or Mrs Hudson, he tried to reason. However, now, the seemingly insignificant occurrence weighed heavily in his chest as if they were stones.

Furthermore, John is infuriated with his best friend. Or, ex-best friend. He could have done something! He made a vow and broke it.

After Molly’s call, John wonders whether he should go over to her flat like she asks, or if he should abandon Rosamund and go get another drink. He decides in a split-second. He can no longer bury his head in the sand or try to find transient happiness at the bottom of a glass bottle. He needs to be a dad to his daughter – that is what Mary would want.

 

*

 

The bell rights and Molly stands up to open the door.

“Who is it?” Sherlock hears Molly say in the periphery.

“John,” he hears. Sherlock feels his heartache. Never has he felt so irrational, for he really wants to see his friend, but on the other hand, he'd rather not. He has no idea what he is supposed to say - where to begin. After all, it's not as if there is a book or clear-cut instructions on how to deal with your best friend when their wife died taking a bullet for you. The contradictory feelings are rather disgusting - he just wants to go back to seeing everything objectively and rationally. 

Molly opens the door and he can only assume that she hugs him because there is a slight delay before he hears footsteps. He is a little unnerved by the delay, unsure of whether he wants it to continue perpetually of if he'd rather deal with things as soon as possible. 

Within seconds, he is face to face with John Watson. John looks weary - as expected. The lines in his forehead are more defined than usual and his normally soft face seems to be rather hard. It takes a minute for John to notice Sherlock. Either the three - no four - beer cansor the grief has retarded John's attention. When John notices Sherlock, he is far from happy - as anticipated. 

“What is he doing here?!” His he is spat out with such bitterness and accusation that Sherlock’s hope that Molly is right diminishes.


End file.
